


We're Here Now

by Kaoru_chibimaster



Series: Gladnoct Week 2017 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Fix It Fic, Gladnoct Week, M/M, because i'm still trash, because i'm trash and i want these two to be happy, fluff in chapter 2, not really violent but kinda bloody, énouement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 16:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12891603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoru_chibimaster/pseuds/Kaoru_chibimaster
Summary: And it was odd to have finally reached this point after wondering for so long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was kinda hard for me to write and ended up taking the longest as a result (I just barely finished it before gladnoct week started), but I figured I’d post this anyway because I’ll never improve if I only write easy things. Constructive criticism is welcome.

It took Noctis sixteen years to finally say something.

Sixteen years.

Even to him, this seemed odd. Noctis was no stranger to throwing himself into a situation without assessing it in its entirety. After all, that was best left up to Ignis. It _was_ his very job. Noctis leapt first and asked questions later, usually questions such as “what the fuck did I just do?” and “why the fuck did I just do it?” but this time? This time Noctis took his time.

He sat on his hands. And he waited. And he waited. And he waited some more. And he hoped to Shiva or Bahamut or whoever else might have been listening that he didn’t let anything slip. That he didn’t start acting weird during training. That he didn’t come off as some clingy, over-enthusiastic puppy. Gods knew when it started he wouldn’t be taken seriously. He was fourteen and his shield? His shield was one year away from joining the crownsguard, coming of age, proving his worth as a productive member of society. Noctis’ voice was still cracking.

Those were trying times.

And then he got older and it became habit. Don’t say anything because you haven’t before, Noctis, why start now? The object of his affections had long since starting showing his own affections towards others. Pretty vocally, at that. Even more so physically. If Noctis wasn’t listening to his shield brag about whatever hot piece of ass he was dating, then he was listening to the older boy tap it whenever he visited his shield’s apartment. Noctis reasoned himself through it more. Gladio devoted nearly his entire life to Noctis and the crown, he didn’t need to give up his love life to his prince too.

He reached twenty and ended up engaged.

Noctis reasoned with himself again. This works out. Yeah, Gladio isn’t dating anyone currently and they’re off on a road trip which left little room for romance to form between Gladio and some stranger. Yeah, it meant Noctis had ample opportunity to admit how he felt, how he long since felt, and how he continued to feel once he realized it ran deeper than a simple, fleeting crush. But that didn’t mean Noctis was going to ruin the older man’s chances later. Marrying Luna meant Noctis was off the market, right? So he couldn’t admit his feelings anyway, right? He was no longer a threat to Gladio’s personal commitments, and that was a very good thing. Besides, it would all work out. He loved Luna. Not at all in the way he loved Gladio, not even close. But she’d been one of his closest friends since he was eight, and had carried him through some of the hardest of times with her letters. It was better, he figured, to marry his friend rather than some noblewoman who only wanted him for his throne. That was what his father did, marry his best friend, and that clearly worked out seeing as Noctis _existed_.

It was convincing for a while. Noctis would slowly get used to the idea of getting married, would allow the act to continue around Gladio. They’d camp together and spar together and fish together and walk together and…well. Yeah. Everything they did, they did together. With the entire group of course, because Noctis couldn’t allow himself to be alone together with Gladio. He was trying to convince himself how wonderful it was to be marrying a woman he hadn’t seen in person in twelve years. That would all come crashing down if he let his feelings for Gladio come to the forefront.

Or if something were to, say, compromise the wedding.

Just his luck.

The wedding was part of the treaty. The bullshit treaty that was only a ruse Niflheim used to kill his father and take his entire life from him. His people hurt and scattered. His kingdom taken over. His crystal gone. He was king and everything was ruined.

It was no longer a matter of feelings. The only thing he felt was regret that he hadn’t stayed behind and personally lopped Aldercapt’s head off with his own sword. As well as that of every Niflheim higher up that brought harm to his city.

It was easy to forget for a while that he felt anything other than pain and regret. It was easy to turn it off and fight every daemon that crossed their path. Except one. She brought back… _uncomfortable_ memories and not even the thrill of that fight had stopped everything from overflowing. He’d let it all out. Everything. The loss of his father. The strain of the crown. The weight of the ring, felt on his finger even when it was held in Luna’s hands. The sickening feeling in his gut when he realized he’d been dallying around too much, hunting and questing and spelunking and such, and that the longer he put off his duties, the more people got hurt.

He’d gone to Altissia with the intention of awakening a goddess, not marrying a princess. And from there, everything was a straight line. It was only moving forward, despite how numb he felt when he lost yet another person dear to him. When he’d almost lost a third, and could only watch as his once confident advisor took cautious steps, stumbling over obstacles he couldn’t see. Tensions were high. Far too high to think properly. He was being pushed around and screamed at and doubted, and none of it helped. None of it helped when the one person he wanted comfort from was the one screaming and pushing and doubting. He’d been held up to high standards by Gladio before, but this was something else entirely. This was malice. This was being told to get over one of his oldest friends’ death. This was being forced to wear the ring that had been slowly killing his father. There wasn’t even a wall to hold up with it anymore. It was only meant to attack, to destroy, in Noctis’ hands. And Noctis had been doing nothing but, the entire journey.

It hurt when he put it on.

It hurt to be thrust into the empty corridors of Zegnautus with not even a “good luck” and not one person by his side to help along the way.

It hurt to know that whatever might have been happening to Prompto could be fifty times worse.

It hurt to know he caused it.

It hurt to know he left Gladio and Ignis behind.

It hurt to find what remained of Ravus splattered on the ground, Noctis’ father’s sword next to him almost as if left as a gift.

It hurt to see those same remains get back up and beg to be killed.

It hurt to leave his friends behind for what he didn’t know at the time would be ten years.

It hurt being told he was going to die.

Out on the road, there was no guarantee any of them would live. They took their precautions, packed as many potions and elixirs and ethers and remedies and _especially_ phoenix downs as they could. But in the end, they were only human. The adrenaline of battle kept them on their toes. Their skills and their weapons and their tools and Noctis’ magic kept them alive. They could have all died at any point, but it would have been abrupt. Brutal. In the midst of a fight, when the last phoenix down was gone and a potion simply would not help and they would’ve watched helplessly as the light left the eyes of their fallen comrade. They thanked their lucky stars that such a situation never happened.

But Noctis’ time in the crystal was slow and torturous. He had both the blessing and the curse of time. Pure time. Nothing but time. He was allowed to reflect on everything he’d done and everything he’d been through. He was allowed to think on the faces of the people he cared for most, in their most pristine and glorious and perfect. Before everything went to hell. He was allowed to engrave them in his memory and hold them dear. He was allowed to pretend, if just for a moment, that the last few weeks before he entered the crystal never happened. Hell, the last few months. Maybe he’d get lucky and this will all have turned out to be a dream. His father never really died. His city was never destroyed. His crystal never stolen. His life didn’t fall apart and his didn’t lose Luna. Ignis never went blind and Prompto never got captured and Gladio never lost faith in him.

It was all taken away again when he woke up on Angelgard. The sky was black as night and the land infested with daemons. No sign of humanity. Not even a whisper. Galdin Quay was barren of life, unless the daemons counted as living but Noctis would wager they didn’t. Judging by what he remembered learning in Gralea, as well as the myriad of clothes strewn about, the daemons couldn’t exactly be living if whatever they were previously had to die to be turned.

It was a disturbing thought, to say the least. Noctis found himself more than grateful to be found by Talcott on the road. Not so much for his own safety, but for the relief that washed over him at the sight of another human being. And not only that, but a familiar face. One that was warm and welcome and recognizable. And far older than he expected. Ten years older, to be exact. Ten years of life Noctis had missed. He hadn’t been asleep, per say, during his stay in the crystal. All of his thoughts had been conscious and lucid. He’d known without a doubt that he was spending ungodly amounts of time there –with a god, no less– absorbing the magic of the crystal into himself, slowly but surely, as he carried on with life. He’d known he was there physically, practicing his sword play and refining his magic when he felt too restless, and cutting his hair and shaving his face when he started to feel too much like a caveman. It was odd, when Noctis thought about it, how Bahamut seemed to provide all of his needs for him. As if he was offering what little comfort he could to a man who was born to die. It was odd how Noctis had quickly lost track of time in that place where time only barely existed, days blurring into weeks and into years until he finally fell asleep and woke up on a rocky surface instead of the warm metal of Bahamut’s draconian armor. And as he sat in that rickety truck while the kid who used to get overly excited about cactuar figurines (the very same ones on the dashboard) drove him to Hammerhead, it finally hit him just how much he missed.

He met up with his friends in Hammerhead and everything came rushing back to him. Finally. Every feeling, every joy, every regret, every sadness. Every bit of the inappropriate affection he felt for his shield. He tried to reason with himself again. To convince himself that after ten years, Gladio would have settled down. That his shield deserved someone who could love and hold him for the rest of his life, not the shell of a king leftover in the aftermath of the gods’ will, destined to die on a throne he’d never sat on once before in his life.

It didn’t work.

He’d waited until the others fell asleep, watching Gladio watch him. They stared at each other quietly, memorizing each other’s familiar features and learning the new ones. Gladio had reached out tentatively to touch Noctis’ beard, scratching lightly over the sparse facial hair with his fingers.

“And here I thought you’d be baby-faced forever,” he’d laughed. There was no humor in it. It was a short, dry thing. The sort of sound one could only make when they learned of the impending death of one of their oldest friends.

Noctis opened his mouth to reply. It was supposed to be a smart aleck quip. A typical rude comment that had no force behind it. The sort of verbal blow he usually traded with Gladio that had no meaning behind it and was only spoken in good natured jest. Something familiar and comforting.

An ocean flooded out instead. He almost wanted to smack himself for dumping all of the feelings he’d tried for so long to convince himself he didn’t have onto his shield. Gladio didn’t need nor deserve that. He probably had his own life to live that Noctis would just be ruining. He sat and listened patiently, his hands folded under his chin as he waited for Noctis to finish, but it was likely a show of politeness. He, the king’s shield and one of Noct’s oldest friends, would listen to anything Noctis had to say. That didn’t exactly mean he had to agree with it, empathize with it, or even understand it. He didn’t have to feel the same way. Noctis went silent after he finished his unprompted word vomit, just waiting for Gladio to say something. To gently let him down, or laugh off his feelings, or maybe even roll his eyes. Tell him how pointless it was to say this all now when Noctis wouldn’t even last until the end of the week. Instead, the shield too was silent. He only watched his king quietly, hands still folded and eyes still focused. As if he was still listening intently even when there were no more words spoken. He moved when Noctis moved, both of them sitting up straight in their chairs.

Noctis waited again, this time for Gladio to speak. He found he was pretty good at this waiting thing. Seemed to be the only thing he could accomplish when it came to his affections.

“How long?” Gladio asked after a particularly long pause.

“Too long,” Noctis snorted. Gladio only stared at him, waiting for a serious answer.

“Sixteen years.”

Gladio let out a low whistle. “Damn. Longer than me.”

Noctis practically froze in his seat, lifting his head slowly to stare at his shield with wide eyes. What exactly was that even supposed to mean, after all? Longer than Gladio. ‘Longer’ what? He couldn’t possibly be saying…?

“I—what?” came Noctis’ fumbling response. His mouth had fallen open and he was sure he was gaping like a fish at this point. At last, some amusement flashed in Gladio’s eyes. Not the reaction Noctis was looking for, but it was a far cry from the blank resignation he’d displayed at the news of Noctis’ impending death.

“It probably hit me right around when we started the road trip. Didn’t know what to make of it, feeling that way for my prince…my _engaged_ prince, so I just kinda ignored it. Would’ve said something sooner if I’d known you felt the same,” Gladio said. He leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin, sending Noctis an impressed look. “But sixteen years? Who would’ve thought you’d be that good at keeping it under wraps.”

“And how exactly would you have reacted if I’d said anything?” Noctis asked, ire lacing into his voice at how casually this was being discussed. He expected yelling and denials and being shoved back towards his duty instead of admitting to feelings that had no more meaning at this point. This was…he didn’t even know what his was. He actually kind of figured he’d be turned down and that would be the end of it.

“I don’t know,” Gladio answered. “I honestly don’t know, Noct. I want to say I would’ve told you ‘no’ and left it at that. But knowing me? The no-filter guy? I might have said yes.”

“And now you’re saying…?”

Once again Gladio watched Noctis silently. He almost seemed to be studying him; memorizing him. It was the sort of scrutiny Noctis wanted to squirm under, but he somehow managed to keep still. Gladio let out a sigh at his stiff posture, lifting himself from his seat and stretching his arms over his head.

“It probably doesn’t matter at this point but,” their eyes met, “it’s a yes.”

Gladio walked into the tent, ready to go to sleep, and Noctis stayed where he was. He let out a long exhale, feeling the tension let out of his shoulders as his entire posture drooped. All that time he’d wondered and fantasized and _hoped_. All that time and he could’ve said something.

Funny, that they were here now and all Noctis could think of was how much time he’d wasted. He’d had so many opportunities to say what he felt to his shield, and to have earned that same affection and desire in return. And he’d waited until he was thirty fucking years old and walking to his own grave. Sixteen years and this was all he had to show for it. Cathartic as he was in the moment, he’d felt an odd sensation as well. The desire to go back, to tell himself to open his mouth, that it would work out, that he’d have more _time_. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell twenty year old Noctis that his feelings were returned. He’d wondered to himself all those times just how the future might unfold, just what sort of future he might have in store for him, how his shield might fit into that future. He wished he could look himself in the face and tell himself to stop imagining what it would be like. To just live in the now and go for it. For everything. No use in wondering about the future when he would eventually be living it. And now that he was…

It still hurt.

Everything still hurt. It still hurt to use the ring. It still hurt to see what was left of his home. It still hurt to unleash the power of the past kings. It still hurt to think about everything he was leaving behind and all the people who had sacrificed everything for him. It still hurt to think that he was giving up everything just to give the rest of those people a chance to survive.

When the pain slowly started fading away, Noctis opened his eyes. Slowly, nervously, not sure what to expect from the afterlife. He thought he might see fields of sylleblossoms to represent his childhood and his friendship with Luna, or his father’s study to represent his happier memories, or even just an expanse of nothing. He thought he might see his father’s soul, finally released from the ring it had been trapped in. He thought he might meet his mother for the first time. He thought he might see all those he knew who had been lost. The glaives and the crownsguard and the friends who never made it. He didn’t expect to see the throne room again. He thought it might be a sick joke of some sort, brought right back to the place where he died where the ceiling was still caved in on one side and the floor and walls still bore the marks of battle. The sun filtered into the room lazily, a sign of sunrise, and it puzzled Noctis that he might be witnessing this. Was there any such thing in death to witness?

He would have thought so at first. And then he’d heard voices. Low, mumbling voices. Slowly lifting his head, Noctis sought out the owners of these voices. His eyes drifted to his left, catching a fuzzy view of three figures standing together with their heads bowed. He caught snippets of what they said, the words processing sluggishly in his mind; mentions of his name, of the city and of the kingdom. Words such as ‘Lestallum’ and ‘rebuild’ and ‘refugees’ floated around. ‘Funeral’ stood out the most. His funeral. _Noct’s_ funeral.

He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t have been. He sucked in a breath and his lungs rattled and his chest flaired with a raging pain that traveled out from Noctis’ center and stung at his fingertips. His heartbeat rushed in his ears, making the already murky sound even more so, pumping in a struggle to keep him alive as his blood leaked out from his wound. His body labored through the pain, stiff from the night he’d spent pinned to that throne and overwhelmed from the beating it had taken. Exhaustion washed over him, the sort he usually experienced when in stasis, and the itching feeling of wounds stitching themselves back together made itself known in the back of his mind. He was healing himself. It was likely the only thing keeping him alive despite the sword in his chest. He wouldn’t be healing himself if he was dead. He wouldn’t be breathing, and seeing, and _feeling_ if he was dead. He wouldn’t be listening to his friends discuss his funeral if he was dead.

Noctis opened his mouth to speak and could only let out a wet cough. Spittle, and likely blood, dribbled down his chin, staining his beard and dripping onto his clothes. It caused another flair of pain to spread through Noctis’ body, making him groan through gritted teeth. The sound finally caught the attention of his friends, all of whom had nearly jumped out of their skin before turning around. Their eyes were wide and incredulous, even Ignis’ though he couldn’t see. But he could definitely hear, far better than the others, and Noctis had no doubt Ignis could also hear his labored breathing as this seemed to spur him into action. He strode towards Noctis, Gladio and Prompto on his heels, and knelt down before him.

“Noct…?” he asked, placing a hand on Noctis’ knee gently, so much so that it seemed as if he was determined not to hurt Noctis further. A pointless gesture. Noctis couldn’t feel anything beyond the excruciating pain in his chest. He sputtered through short breaths and quiet words, opening and closing his mouth as he attempted to spit out his command.

“P—ll…it….ut….”

“I…I’m sorry, Noct, I…I couldn’t…” Ignis struggled with his words, a rare occurrence if there ever was one. And a frustrating one. Noctis didn’t need nervous stuttering, he needed the steel removed from his flesh.

“Pull…the damn…sword…out.”

Quiet were the words, breathy and clotted with blood, but they were heard and that was enough. Ignis seemed to hesitate for a moment, but his mind caught up with him quickly and he finally stood.

“Gladio,” he said. “Help me pull this sword out.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Don’t question me, just do it!”

There was a pause as Gladio processed Ignis’ words, and Noctis let his eyes slip closed again as he braced himself for what was to come. He heard shuffling as the two men moved closer to him, felt a hand hesitantly hover over his shoulder before closing over it to hold him up, felt the whisper of an apology against his ear, and tensed as the vibrations of someone’s fingers clasping around the hilt of the sword traveled up the metal and ran across his skin. His muscles seized up and he nearly choked on the scream in his throat when the tugging began. The sword itself hardly budged, having been run through him and lodged into the throne. Instead it grinded against the wound, spilling more blood down Noctis’ front and sending another wave of magic through his body as it tried to force each pump of his heart. He almost wanted to tell them to stop, to just let it happen, but words could no longer come to him. Everything just…hurt.

“Prompto, hold him up. Gladio and I will both need to—”

Ignis’ voice faded in and out in Noctis’ ears and he only barely registered the hand being removed from his shoulder as another set held him against the back of the throne firmly. Once again the sword tugged at his insides, and he found his fingers clenching and his throat sore. He was screaming this time, of that he was sure. His body might as well have been on fire for how it flared with pain, spreading out to all of his extremities in waves with each tug. He was barely conscious by this point, only feeling, and even that started to fade away slowly. Everything started to fade away slowly.

He wondered then if he had finally reached the afterlife. When the pain reduced itself to numbness and the sounds of his own screams no longer reached his ears. When he no longer saw, or felt, or heard, or smelled. When the merciful expanse of nothing met his senses and soothed him to sleep. He figured it was likely some cruel trick of the gods, to have made it so that he wouldn’t die immediately. He’d see his friends one more time and be taunted with the belief that he’d heal. That he’d live. And they too would fall to the trick, pulling his father’s sword out of his chest in some desperate attempt to save him from his fate. Foolish, when he thought about it. There would be no saving. He had to die for the sake of the light, after all. Still, it was unnecessary to hang the chance of living over Noctis’ head like that, only to rip it from him as he watched his friends’ desperation. As he died in agony. They should have let his eyes stay closed after that final blow…

-o-

So when he opened them again, he found himself wondering just what in the hell was going on.

His gaze drifted slowly over his surroundings. A lot of white. Sheets draped over railings as makeshift privacy curtains, a rudimentary machine, old and rusty, beeping incessantly at him—a heart monitor perhaps, a series of tubes that seemed to connect to Noctis’ body in various ways… He was in a hospital of some sort. A temporary and hastily put together one, judging by the equipment and environment. There was a hollow ache in his chest, and a prickly numbness everywhere else. Areas of his body where he couldn’t feel anything at all, even. It was a small observation in the grand scheme, honestly. He was still slowly letting the feeling of being alive sink in. He could pick out little dust motes in the filtered sunlight, floating lazily in the air. There were voices in the background, murmuring quietly. No words he could make out. There was a smell that invaded Noctis’ senses, making his stomach growl. Someone was cooking something. Slowly, almost sluggishly, feeling came back to him as well. There was an ache beyond the throbbing in his chest now, settling in his toes and fingertips. Breathing was a particularly laborious activity once he started paying attention to it, a wheezing sound coming out of his chest. He could feel the course, gritty feeling of old blankets scratching against his skin. He could feel a slight breeze brushing across his face, the same one blowing the curtain aside in one area periodically. A fan was on then? And who was using it? Certainly not him.

Slowly he began to process these sensations he’d observed. If there was talking, then someone was present. If there was food cooking, then someone was eating. If there was a fan on outside of Noctis’ little bubble of space, then someone else was using it. If he was in a hospital, then someone put him there.

He opened his mouth.

And immediately started coughing.

The sounds of heavy footsteps barely registered to Noctis as he all but hacked a lung out. The curtains being shoved aside did catch his attention, however, as did the warm hands pulling him into a sitting position and rubbing at his back. He flinched at the motion, a spike of pain shooting through his chest again, but soon relaxed into it as his coughing subsided. A metal cup, filled with water, was pressed into his hands and he drank greedily from it.

“Careful there. Don’t want to start choking again.”

Noctis blinked slowly at the cup in his hands, not even bothering to raise his head. Instead, it lowered as he sighed.

“What happened?” was Noctis’ only response. Another sigh mirrored his, and he felt the tough mattress sink as a weight settled down onto it.

“You died.”

Well that much Noctis was sure of.

“And then you came back.”

That part…needed elaboration. Noctis knew he was alive, certainly. But the idea was so surreal to him. How could he have lived through such an experience? When he’d felt his body give out, and his soul release itself into the realm of the crystal for one final battle with Ardyn? How could he have survived the aftermath?

He looked up at Gladiolus then.

“How?”

A shrug. “Hell if I know. You were on the throne and me and the guys spent the night mourning you. The dawn came back the next morning and we figured it was time to start making preparations for your funeral and beyond, and then you woke up. Your body was covered in this blue light and all your wounds had started to heal.”

Brown eyes that had been staring wistfully at the sheets, likely absently as he relived that night, finally turned to meet blue. Gladio stared hard at Noctis, as if memorizing his every feature. He was silent as he examined his king, his gaze flitting over small details of Noctis’ appearance before returning to his eyes; frequently, as if it pained him to look away.

“Thought we’d lost you for good.”

Noctis nodded in agreement. “So did I.”

“Would’ve made Prompto cry.”

“…Yeah, I guess it would have.”

“And Iggy. Though he wouldn’t let anyone see.”

Noctis fell silent. What was there to say in the face of such strong emotions?

“And me.”

An eyebrow raised. “And you?”

“I woulda cried like a baby,” Gladio grinned. It was an expression easily returned, albeit minutely. Noctis was still struggling through the pain, after all, and as good as it felt to smile, he couldn’t quite mask that ache. It earned him a worried look from his shield.

“Still in pain? We’ve got painkillers, but…”

“But what?”

“They’ll probably knock you back out. It’s been a while…”

“How long?”

A beat of silence. Noctis tried again.

“ _How long?_ ”

“Two weeks.”

He felt a huff leave his mouth as he leaned back against the pillows that had been propped up for him. Two weeks. He’d been out for longer, sure, but he was a child then. He had no responsibilities other than to heal. Here and now, he’d missed two weeks of helping his city, his kingdom, and the world do the same. He’d have settled for a couple days, but two weeks?

A finger poked him in his forehead, right where it had been wrinkled in frustration.

“Whatever you’re thinking, drop it. You needed that time to heal. Not everyone survives a sword to their chest, Noct.”

“Yeah, but—”

That finger moved over his lips.

“Remember what I told you before? When you can’t focus, I focus for you. And you’re way outta focus right now, Noctis. You need to let your body rest. Relax,” Gladio grinned again. “You singlehandedly brought the sun back. _And_ the moment your ass leaves this mattress, you’ve gotta rule Lucis, so don’t get up too soon.”

Noctis rolled his eyes, but nodded slowly all the same, careful not to give himself a headache on top of it all. Besides, when he thought about it, what could he do? He couldn’t even wake up without being in pain, how exactly was he supposed to get up and help anyone? Gladio was right. He’d have to sit tight for a little while longer before he started helping anyone else. He settled himself against the pillows more comfortably this time, straightening up from where he’d been slouching against them.

“How’re Ignis and Prompto?” he asked. Gladio relaxed a bit as well at the subject change, pulling his finger away.

“A lot peppier, I’ll tell you that. Their spirits were dampened a bit by your two week nap, but honestly? They’re just happy you’re alive.”

“And you?” Noctis asked. He’d meant to ask how Gladio was doing, and it hadn’t occurred to him until his shield frowned how his words could be construed.

“The hell kinda question is that? ‘And me’? Of course I’m happy you’re alive! Gods know what I’d do if you weren’t…”

Become someone else’s shield probably. Or give up the business altogether. Either thought left a sour taste in Noctis’ mouth, and he only shrugged in lieu of answering outright.

“Don’t give me that. Noct, I can’t describe how happy I was to see you alive and…well, maybe not _well_ just yet. But you’re getting there, and that’s what matters.”

Gladio leaned forward then, his breath brushing across Noctis’ skin and alighting his nerves with the first sensation that wasn’t a deep ache. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Also, given the situation, I think that ‘yes’ I gave matters a little more now.”

Noctis wasn’t given a chance to wonder to himself what Gladio meant when he said that, having momentarily forgotten the conversation it alluded to. He wasn’t really given a chance to wonder at all. Or to consider, or to puzzle through, or to think really. He could conjure up no conscious thought when Gladio’s lips pressed against his, only muster the sense to kiss back. To deepen it. To lose himself to the feeling and forget about everything else. He followed after as Gladio pulled away, capturing his mouth again as he ran his fingers through chocolate hair, and he found that he liked the sensation of Gladio smiling into the kiss. He liked the sensation of running his fingers over a stubbled jawline, carding them back into soft locks, trailing them down muscled neck and over corded shoulders, gripping into the skin when Gladio licked into his mouth. Gods had he wished he’d done this sooner. He wished he could go back and tell himself that he’d reached this point and that everything would turn out alright. He wished…

Never mind wishing. He finally _had_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured since this fic started out as an angst riddled mess, I’d add something fluffy to it to make up for that, so this is technically for the Day 7 Free Day as well. ~~Yes, I know Gladnoct week is technically over but I couldn’t resist, okay??~~

 “Hey.”

“What?”

“Don’t you have your own bed?”

“…Are you actually complaining at me?”

Noctis eyed up his shield, lying beside him on the uncomfortable makeshift hospital bed with his nose shoved in an open book, his eyes moving side to side ravenously as he was sucked into whatever story he was reading. It must’ve been good. Which was fine with Noctis, after all who was he to begrudge someone enjoyable literature, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why this had to happen in his personal bubble. And no, Noctis wasn’t really _upset_ about sharing that space with his new lover, but honestly if he was going to be ignored for fiction, he’d rather Gladio not do it in his face.

“I am complaining at you. Get out.”

Gladio snorted, turning a page as he continued to read. “Not happening, Majesty,” he’d answered absently. ‘Majesty’ wondered how much success he’d have ordering his shield away before the possibility of doing so pissing Gladio off pushed the idea away. He then contemplated sticking his hand in front of the pages –just to see what would happen, of course– before the thought occurred to him that Gladio has bitten him for lesser things in the past. And not in the fun way.

Eventually he settled for poking at Gladio’s sides.

“What are you, five?” Gladio asked, sighing as he pressed a thumb to the word he was on, not bothering to close the book as he was making it clear that he wasn’t finished reading it. And that was fine. But he could do that somewhere else. If he wanted to lay around in bed with Noctis, the last thing he needed to be doing was ignoring him. That was just plain rude.

“I was fifty times more annoying when I was five. Anyway, go finish your book where I don’t have to look at you.”

“Why, because I’m not looking at you?” Gladio snorted. Noctis grinned slyly at him.

“Did you think you were going to fluster me into saying no? Of course that’s why. Stop ignoring me in my own bed.”

An exasperated eye roll.

“If I was ignoring you, I wouldn’t be here. And anyway, this isn’t even your bed.”

“It is too mine. Everything the light touches is my kingdom.”

“Don’t go quoting kids’ movies at me—Noct, are you high on medicine, or something?”

Well no. Medicine didn’t affect Noctis the same way it affected everyone else. His very blood was medicine, the best kind at that. Pure magical healing. And since he’d absorbed the crystal, it had only increased its healing properties by tenfold. Apparently dying didn’t change that. It might knock him out for a couple hours if it’s strong enough, but he never caught a high from it. It was as about dismaying as was the day he first figured out he couldn’t get drunk. It had dampened his teenage years just a little.

It unfortunately also meant painkillers didn’t work. And no, his magic blood didn’t stop him from feeling pain.

Gladio didn’t really know this though, so…

“Possibly.”

“Noct…”

“Not really, actually. It doesn’t work like that, I’m just a nerd.”

Gladio finally looked up at Noctis, a fond expression mixed in with the irritation. “’Bout time you admitted it.”

“When did I ever deny it?”

The book finally snapped shut within Gladio’s hand, set down gently on the little rolling, wooden stand that had been brought in by one of the new crownsguard trainees (some poor fumbling kid that kept staring at Noctis to the point where he’d tripped into one of the hanging sheets and had nearly pulled it from its supports) and piled on with junk soon after. Important junk, but junk nonetheless. Paperwork meant little to Noctis when an entire population of people were still physically suffering the aftermath of a veritable apocalypse. Gladio, alongside Ignis and literally everyone else who had been involved in Noctis’ life before the ten year night, had treated it as if it was precious though, and so Noctis had long since stopped rolling his eyes at it. Besides, Gladio was just as, if not more, careful with his books. It was placed atop the pile of paper meticulously, almost lovingly, and Noctis frowned at it because it was a damn book not a baby.

And anyway, Noctis never told Gladio to stop reading. He made this clear verbally.

“You might as well have,” Gladio said, indicating Noctis’ fingers which had been digging into his sides playfully. “You wouldn’t stop bugging me.”

“Your reactions amuse me.”

Noctis felt his words validated by the comical display of emotions that crossed Gladio’s face. He cracked an easy smile at them.

“Don’t grin at me, you dork,” Gladio said, reaching out to push lightly at the side of Noctis’ jaw with a forefinger. “Alright so you have my attention. What do you want?”

Nothing. There was nothing Noctis could ask for that Gladio hadn’t already given. He wouldn’t dare demand more of the man.

Except maybe to read in his own bed.

“I already told you what I want.”

“And I already told you I’m not leaving. So what do you really want if you’re so offended by me reading in your presence?”

Noctis settled in his spot, not that he’d really been displaced all that much as everyone was adamant he get his rest. He’d been resting for weeks now. What he needed to do was stretch his legs before he ended up in a wheelchair again. But apparently the very idea of getting up out of his bed was appalling to his close ones, so he’d been cooped up in it for a gods awful amount of time. And really, he enjoyed spending it in Gladio’s presence regardless of what they were doing. It wasn’t that it offended him for Gladio to spend his time reading, gods knew Noctis had spent plenty of time laying in that bed handling all that paperwork while Gladio sat bored next to him or walked around the tiny enclosed space, but he also couldn’t deny that being confined to said space had put him in a bit of a mood. He was only human, after all. If he couldn’t get up and occupy his own mind, he’d need someone to do it for him. Someone who wasn’t sucked into brittle pages and black ink.

“Lay with me,” he finally said after a small moment of quiet, leaned back against his pillows as he picked at the fibers of his coarse blanket.

“I thought I’d been doing that for weeks now,” Gladio chuckled, a thick eyebrow raised mischievously.

“Not what I meant, smartass. We can do that later. I mean lie down and forget the book for a moment.”

 Noctis had meant to swat at his lover lightly for the jest, but the motion was weak and shaky and had ended up with his hand enclosed in warm fingers, a thumb rubbing over the skin gently. It would’ve been more pleasant had Noctis not caught the flash of worry in Gladio’s eyes. He, as well as everyone else, seemed to think Noctis was still recovering from his own death and resurrection. Not quite so. He’d long since healed from that experience. He’d found, after his two week nap, that all that had been left of his experience in the throne room were a crisscross of scars decorating his torso from where every weapon had impaled itself, the most prominent one being from his father’s sword. The same sword Noctis kept near and dear to him, refusing to fear one of the few reminders he had left of the late and great king. Instead, what had him so tired was the equivalent of a near month long stasis in response to the ridiculous amount of magic it had taken to bring him back and heal him up. It was the sort of tiredness that settled into his bones and sinew, sapped from his muscles and leaving him a shaky, exhausted mess in its wake. He’d recover from it sooner rather than later, but it’d sent everyone into a tizzy over him and as a result…

Bed rest. For an unspecified amount of time.

But it was like Gladio had said, the moment his ass left the mattress he’d be ruling Lucis and his ass hadn’t moved from its spot yet. He’d accepted the paperwork because it’d been something to do at the time, but the moment he got up he’d be handling most of the affairs with Ignis at his back rather than in the forefront. He was simultaneously excited and terrified for the day when that would finally happen. Mostly terrified. And being so weak that he was unable to stand for more than a few seconds wouldn’t do him any favors when that time came. He supposed he should be grateful for the chance to sit back and relax for a bit. And enjoy his privacy with Gladio. They wouldn’t be getting much of that beyond those ratty sheet-curtains.

“Here,” Noctis started. “Lay right next to me.” He directed Gladio’s movements, pushing him down by his chest and maneuvering his arms the way he wanted them. “Put your arm under my head. Yup, like that. And the other one…” Was wrapped around Noctis’ waist as they lay on their sides, facing one another. It’d taken more effort than what would normally be necessary on Noctis’ part, but the way he’d been pulled against Gladio’s body, warm and safe in his arms, was more than worth it.

“There. That’s all I want from you.”

“You could’ve just asked. I’m not exactly opposed to cuddling with you,” Gladio said, a soft smile on his face.

“I know. I just like the faces you make when I’m difficult with you,” Noctis admitted. Which was true. He’d meant it when he said he found Gladio’s reactions amusing.

“ _Of course_.” Another, somehow even _more_ exasperated eye roll. “What else should I have expected?”

“For me to change? I hope not?”

“Nah,” Gladio shook his head, though his next answer wasn’t what Noctis had expected. “You have changed. And at the same time, you haven’t. I don’t think you ten years ago would be this comfortable or confident in yourself. I don’t think you ten years ago would’ve taken this easily to the paperwork and the notes of correspondence Iggy passes you from the new council. I definitely don’t think you from ten years ago would be bullying me into holding you in bed—” this earned a cheeky smile from Noctis “—and honestly? That doesn’t mean you’re not still you. Still the Noct I fell in love with.”

There was a warm, syrupy feeling in the middle of Noctis’ chest that he found he liked very much, that bloomed every time he heard those words from his shield. Gods did he love him back. So, so much…

“Okay, you can lay with me in the other way too now.”

Gladio snorted at that. “Insatiable.”

Noctis didn’t respond in words. He figured Gladio could just feel how much Noctis loved him back when he pressed their lips together. He hoped it gave Gladio the same indescribable feeling, that of soaring and falling all at once, that it had given him.

Judging by the way Gladio kissed him back, he thought it just might.


End file.
